


Oddities

by zenstrike



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dimitri has PTSD, Fluff and Humor, LMAO MORE OR LESS, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Secret Relationship, Shenanigans, childhood friends quartet, dimivain roommates because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21571900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Dimitri just wants to finish his paper. And support his friends. And kiss his significant other.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 195





	Oddities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EnlacingLines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/gifts).



> THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL AUDREY FOR BETA’ING THIS PILE OF SILLINESS!!!!!!!
> 
> this is for lines, who is such a bright and wonderful person who spreads joy and kindness across the universe. and who made me ship sylvix. i tried to put a bunch of lines-happy-making things in here and i hope you enjoy <3!!!!

Sylvain, who has no respect for closed doors or quiet study hours, bursts through the door and flops onto Dimitri’s bed.

Dimitri looks at him.

Sylvain smiles, splayed handsomely 

“You should model,” Dimitri tells him.

“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees.

Dimitri goes back to his work: a half-full page of his paper stares up at him. He hunches over his laptop.

“Want to go out?” Sylvain says.

“No.”

“Let’s go out.”

Dimitri sighs and looks up at the blank wall above his desk. “No,” he says again.

“I got us movie tickets,” Sylvain continues.

“What?”

“Movie tickets,” Sylvain says. “For us. I got them. Come on, you need to relax.”

Dimitri frowns. “No,” he says. “I need to finish this.”

“Finish it after.” Sylvain perks up a little when Dimitri looks his way again. His smile widens. “I’ll buy you popcorn.”

“I don’t want popcorn.”

“Of course you want popcorn. Everyone wants popcorn. It’s what you eat at movies.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says and hunches further over his laptop. He focuses on the flashing cursor and the half-finished sentence waiting for him. “I am not going with you. Ask Felix. Maybe he wants popcorn.”

“Oh Dimitri,” Sylvain sighs and slides his way to standing, leaving Dimitri’s nicely made bed a rumpled mess.

“Goodbye,” Dimitri says and resolutely types nonsense. “I’m working.”

Sylvain leans over his shoulder. “I think the keysmash gibberish is especially compelling,” he says. “Your prof is going to be so happy to read this.”

Dimitri thinks: I need a nap.

* * *

“ _Dimitri_?” Felix says when he spots them. He doesn’t say it to Dimitri himself but instead spits it at Sylvain’s smiling face.

“Hello Felix,” Dimitri says.

“Why are you here?”

“Sylvain bought movie tickets,” Dimitri replies. “And then coerced me into abandoning the paper I haven’t finished.”

Felix finally looks his way, his scowl twisting his face. “Go home.”

Sylvain claps his hands to Dimitri’s shoulders. “He needs a break,” he says.

That is probably, objectively, true. 

It makes Dimitri suspicious.

Doubly so when Felix replies: “ _I_ need a break.”

Sylvain, with his hands still on Dimitri’s shoulders, turns them both towards the bustling concession stand. “Let’s get you your popcorn!”

“I don’t actually want—”

“Just take it,” Felix snaps and latches on to Dimitri’s sleeve.

“A big ol’ bucket of popcorn!” Sylvain adds cheerfully.

“A big old—bucket,” Dimitri echoes.

The whole situation is, frankly, embarrassing.

* * *

(Last weekend, while they’re all making a mess in Dimitri and Sylvain’s kitchen, supposedly in the name of sustenance:

“Odd,” Dedue says.

“What?” Dimitri says.

“Annoying,” Ingrid corrects.

The three of them watch Sylvain and Felix bicker while the pasta they’re supposed to be watching boils over.

“This shouldn’t be so hard,” Dimitri says.

“It’s still new,” Ingrid continues on his right, drumming her fingers against the handle of Dimitri and Sylvain’s sole kitchen knife. “They’re still figuring it out.”

“Odd,” Dedue repeats.

“Annoying,” Ingrid corrects.

“The pasta,” Dimitri mumbles.

They watch Sylvain and Felix suddenly scramble to save the pasta and the whole apartment is noisy.

“Whatever,” Ingrid says. “I’m not chaperoning anymore.”)

* * *

The popcorn smells strongly of salt and butter. Dimitri wants to bury himself in it but he settles for hugging the warm bucket to his chest. Felix reaches up and grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth. He catches Dimitri watching him and scowls.

Dimitri smiles.

“This is nice,” Sylvain says from Dimitri’s other side. “Popcorn, pals, and—a movie. Super relaxing.”

Felix chews harder.

“Don’t you think so, Felix?”

Felix reaches for another handful. Dimitri bends and earns a darker scowl, all furrowed brow and _go away Dimitri_.

It’s okay. He’s used to it.

“I think so,” Sylvain continues, apparently unphased by his “pals’” silence. “I think this is _great_.”

Dimitri offers Felix a napkin from his pocket. Felix snatches it and wipes pathetically at his butterfied palm.

“Super great,” Sylvain says and leads them into the auditorium.

It’s a Wednesday night. The theatre is mostly quiet, mostly empty: it makes the flashing lights and noisy posters of the lobby seem lonely and more artificial than usual. Dimitri can’t remember the last time he saw a movie, least of all with his friends. He had watched a documentary series on Dedue’s couch a couple of weeks earlier, and on Monday he had sat, wrapped in a blanket, and watched old _America’s Next Top Model_ episodes while he and Byleth repeatedly muttered: “This is awful.”

But a movie? With a literal bucket of popcorn? Not since they were kids, he was sure.

Sylvain bounds ahead and selects a row for them. He makes a sweeping _ta da_ gesture.

He’s been smiling a lot, Dimitri thinks. Maybe too much. It makes his face look a little bizarre and his eyes a little tired. And it clicks: Sylvain is trying too hard.

Felix pokes Dimitri once in the side and steals more popcorn when Dimitri turns to him.

“Would you like the bucket?” Dimitri asks.

“Stop talking.”

“I think that’s a ‘no.’”

“It’s a ‘stop talking!’”

Sylvain rolls his eyes at them and shuffles his way into the row, counting the seats and then finally dropping into one with a contented sigh. He twists to grin at Dimitri and Felix, still standing uselessly in the aisle.

Felix eats one kernel at a time, chewing aggressively.

“After you,” Dimitri says.

“Just go.” Felix hunches when Dimitri looks at him. He adds: “You have the popcorn, okay.”

“You could have the popcorn,” Dimitri tells him. “You’ve had most of it, anyways.”

“Just go!”

Sylvain sighs when Dimitri drops down next to him, still cradling the bucket of popcorn.

“Let me have some of that,” he says, sounding a little dejected.

“You can have all of it,” Dimitri tells him.

“Gotta leave some for Felix.”

“He’s had a lot of it.”

“I hate you both,” Felix snaps and reaches over to snatch up more popcorn.

Sylvain gives Dimitri A Look (a “why do we put up with him? look; a “Felix is always so extraordinarily Felix-like” look) and takes some popcorn for himself.

The three of them sit quietly, Sylvain and Felix chewing on either side of Dimitri while advertisements play loudly on the screen. It’s somehow noisier in here than out in the flashy lobby. Dimitri closes his eyes and hunches down in his seat, mindful of anyone behind him.

“Why am I in the middle?” he murmurs.

“You’re holding the popcorn,” Felix says.

“He doesn’t want you to run away,” Sylvain corrects.

Run away, Dimitri thinks. He cracks open one eye and glances at Felix. Felix materializes a bag of licorice from his coat and tears it open. The licorice wobbles pathetically.

“I’m going to want to leave,” he tells Felix.

“You leave, I leave,” Felix replies.

“I’m going to have a stroke one day,” Sylvain says. “And it’s going to be your guys’ fault.”

Dimitri and Felix shrug.

“I can’t remember the last time I sat through a movie,” Dimitri says, closing his eye again. He frowns. “It’s a lot of noise.”

“You’ll make it today,” Felix says.

“Was it on a date, maybe?” Sylvain says.

Dimitri hunches a little further. “No, I—”

“‘cause movies make _great_ dates.”

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “I know. I—”

“Movies are great because _no one is supposed to talk_ ,” Felix snaps.

“It’s all dark,” Sylvain says. “And moody.”

“Moody?” Dimitri repeats.

“Oh my god,” Felix groans. “Just stop.”

“And you can hold hands and stuff,” Sylvain continues, thoughtful and light. Dimitri figures if he opens his eyes, however, he’ll see Sylvain’s special brand of grimacing smile. His grumpy face. His unhappy face. “Even the Victorians held hands, I’m pretty sure.”

“The Victorians?” Dimitri says.

“Dimitri,” Felix says. “Are you having a panic attack?”

“No?”

“Yeah, the Victorians,” Sylvain continues. “I’ve watched TV. They needed chaperones and stuff.”

“Because they were repressed,” Dimitri points out. He pauses. “Not to generalize, but.”

“Even the Victorians must’ve had proper dates with hand-holding. And the _illusion_ of being alone. A couple should be alone on a date, don’t you think Dimitri?”

“I mean,” he says, and opens his eyes. He frowns as a car zooms by on the screen. The ad flashes to a happy family, grooving along to some—groovy music. “If they’re comfortable being alone?”

“I think he needs to leave,” Felix says. “I’ll go with you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri looks at him, grimacing. “Please don’t use my illness to get out of awkward situations.”

Felix blinks at him, unphased. “You’re looking a little pale.”

“Dimitri,” Sylvain says, calling Dimitri’s attention back. “What would you say if your significant other wanted to have a third wheel along for _all_ of your dates?”

“It’s not _all_ of them,” Felix grumbles.

“I’d say ‘okay,’” Dimitri replies. He rubs his fingers against the cooling popcorn bucket.

Felix, against all odds, pats his knee. Borderline affectionately.

“But I think I’d also ask ‘why,’” Dimitri continues.

And Felix pinches him, which is typical.

“Uh huh,” Sylvain says and Dimitri realizes, suddenly and very loudly, that he has no idea what’s going on.

“I mean,” he continues. Felix finally tugs the popcorn bucket from him. “There must be a reason?”

“Uh huh,” Sylvain says again.

Felix shovels popcorn in his mouth.

“Maybe they—maybe my date is nervous?”

”Uh huh.”

“I wouldn’t want that,” Dimitri decides. “And I’d appreciate their understanding if I was, ah, uncomfortable.”

“Uh huh.”

“Stop asking him,” Felix snaps, rifling through the bucket.

“I’m just getting an opinion,” Sylvain sniffs, slumping back in his seat. He kicks up his feet on the seat in front and drums his fingers against his stomach. “Just seeing what he thinks.”

“Is this a date?” Dimitri says. “Have you dragged me onto a date?”

“No,” they reply together.

Felix shakes the popcorn bucket and then dumps his licorice in.

“Okay,” Dimitri says.

* * *

Sylvain’s good cheer is gone. He’s a muted, depressed presence next to Dimitri for the entire movie, and Felix isn’t much better on Dimitri’s other side. Dimitri bounces his legs and pays zero attention to whatever is happening (there are talking animals and songs and someone blonder than he is). It’s noisy and boring and it makes his ears ring so he doesn’t try to listen, and that’s enough to keep him in his seat.

That, and the clear tension between his friends.

Sylvain, at one point, slumps against his shoulder and picks at Dimitri’s sleeve. Dimitri endures.

Felix kicks the seat in front of him and crunches on unpopped popcorn kernels. Dimitri endures.

On screen, a singing bird seems to mock Dimitri, and he endures.

When it finally ends and the three of them stand and start a slow shuffle out of the auditorium, Dimitri makes a point of saying, a little loudly: “That was a garbage date.”

“What do you know?” Felix snaps over his shoulder, the emptied popcorn bucket tucked under his arm.

“Wasn’t a date,” Sylvain grumbles.

They part ways and nobody is happy.

* * *

When they get home, Sylvain sighs and says: “Thanks for coming, anyways.”

Dimitri toes off his shoes and sets them neatly aside. He watches Sylvain collapse onto their couch, his untied shoelaces dangling and his hair bright against the fabric.

“Why did you bring me?” Dimitri asks, coming to stand over Sylvain.

Sylvain, facedown, shrugs. “Ingrid said she wouldn’t come.”

“Right,” Dimitri says. “I’m going to finish my paper.”

“Enjoy.”

Dimitri shakes his head and goes to his bedroom and shuts his door. He thinks for a moment, and then drags his desk chair in front of it.

He clambers onto his bed and looks over at his sleeping laptop.

He calls Byleth instead.

“Hello,” they say. “Are you struggling?”

“Yes,” Dimitri says immediately.

“It doesn’t have to be genius.”

“Oh,” he says. “No. I haven’t worked on my paper very much.”

“Oh.”

“I went on a date tonight.”

“You what?”

There’s a sharp rise in Byleth’s tone that makes them sound, just for a moment, high-pitched and vaguely panicked. Dimitri presses his phone to his cheek and tries to hide his smile against it.

“Not like that.”

“I am not following.”

“Sylvain and Felix went on a date,” Dimitri says. “At the movies.”

“Oh.”

“I sat in between them.”

There’s quiet and then Byleth laughs their short, breathy laugh that makes their eyes brighten and their cheeks flush. “Goodness,” they say. “Why did you go?”

“I didn’t want to,” Dimitri replies. “Also, I didn’t know.”

Byleth laughs again. “You are all so odd.”

Dimitri’s smile grows. He shuffles a little further up his bed and casts a quick glance at his door. “Let’s go out this weekend,” he says.

“Ah,” Byleth replies. “On a date.”

“Yes.”

“What should we do?”

“No movie.”

“No movie,” Byleth agrees. “We could—go for lunch? Or dinner?”

“Maybe.”

“We could take a meandering walk through a park,” Byleth says. Their voice brightens. “I think Christmas lights are going up downtown. And there’s a holiday market.”

“Already?”

“I think the lights should be up all year.”

“Of course you do.” He rubs at his cheek and closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, his legs hanging off the edge of his bed and his back slumped almost uncomfortably. Impatience stirs in the pit of his stomach. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

Byleth hums. Casually, they continue: “You can come and work here, if you like.”

“Sylvain is moping in the living room.”

“That’s not a very productive environment.”

Dimitri stifles his laugh in his fist.

“Well,” he says. “For the sake of my paper.”

“For the sake of your paper,” Byleth agrees solemnly.

* * *

“Where are you going?” Sylvain asks, sitting upright on the couch with a half-finished bag of chips on his chest. He still hasn’t taken off his shoes.

“Library,” Dimitri says.

“Liar.”

“I have a paper to finish,” Dimitri says. “And you are moping.”

Sylvain groans and slumps back. “A good friend would mope with me.”

Dimitri slips his bag over his head and returns to the side of the couch. Sylvain blinks pathetically up at him.

“You and Felix, huh,” Dimitri says, a little too casually.

“Apparently not,” Sylvain replies.

Dimitri considers this. He leans down and pats Sylvain’s ankle. “We’ll work on it.” 

“Can’t work on something that doesn’t exist,” Sylvain moans.

* * *

Byleth’s little studio has a ceiling so low Dimitri has to duck to come through the door, which always delights Byleth into a smile. “Hello,” they say, holding out their hands for Dimitri’s coat.

“Hello,” Dimitri says. 

* * *

Dimitri stumbles into Ingrid at the least busy coffee spot on campus the next morning.

“Hello,” Ingrid says, studying Dimitri while she oversugars her coffee. “You look cheerful.”

“I am cheerful.”

Ingrid smiles. “I heard you—endured last night.” She tosses her wooden stir stick and raises an eyebrow at Dimitri.

It takes Dimitri, in the daze of his post-Byleth cheer, a moment to understand what she means. “Oh,” he says. “Sylvain and Felix.”

“Sylvain and Felix,” Ingrid says, knowing and somber.

They leave together, venturing outside into the cold morning and the crowds. Dimitri’s bag slaps against his side as they go. Ingrid breaks off chunks of her banana bread and chews it thoughtfully.

“They’ll figure it out,” Dimitri says eventually. He pauses. “I’m not going out with them again.”

Ingrid laughs, light and quick. She balls up the banana bread wrapper and takes a long drink of her coffee. “I did my time. It’s your turn.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking turns.”

Ingrid just smiles at him.

“They sat me in between them,” Dimitri says. He doesn’t mean to sound pleading but that’s the way it comes out anyways: help me, Ingrid, help me!

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“And Sylvain moped on the couch after.”

Ingrid’s smile falls a little. “That doesn’t surprise me either.” She takes another drink. “Chips?”

“Chips,” Dimitri says. “I don’t know how much he ate.”

Ingrid makes a small noise and then shifts gears. “Oh yes, your paper. How is it going?”

“Fine,” he lies.

Ingrid sees right through him.

* * *

Sylvain has started his senior research project and has miraculously wrangled himself a cubicle in the grad lounge on the fourth floor of the library. Dimitri peeks through the windows and spots his orange fluff of hair. Sylvain is shifting slightly in his seat, like he’s typing or reading or falling asleep. He’s one of only a few undergraduates in the lounge, or so he tells Dimitri; it’s a good hiding space, a dedicated spot for a tired lit major to store their books.

“Should we knock?” Dimitri asks Dedue.

Dedue peers over his head. “He looks busy.” He leans back. “He may be napping.”

“He may be,” Dimitri agrees.

They step back and look at each other.

“He might not be moping,” Dedue says.

“He was very mopey last night,” Dimitri says.

Dedue considers this. “Felix is probably a difficult person to get close to.” A breath, and then more firmly: “Felix is a very difficult person to get close to.”

Dimitri knows this. “Felix is Felix,” he mutters, and something vaguely guilty stirs just behind his heart. He clears his throat and turns away and taps at his chin, calming his discomfort.

They leave Sylvain be and start another hunt. Two floors up, on the highest corner of the library and tucked in a secret corner one of them (Sylvain, Dimitri thinks; or maybe they had inherited the spot from Byleth) had discovered years and weeks earlier, Felix has tucked himself against a comfy chair and is hunched over his humming laptop. He looks up when they come close, drawing into his quiet and closed space.

He scowls, because he is Felix.

“Hi Felix,” Dimitri says, plopping himself into another chair. He holds his bag in his lap and considers his overlong legs and knees too close to his chest and feels awkward and gangly as he continues to grow, and grow, and grow.

Dedue sits more comfortably in another chair, looking as settled and at peace as Felix and very much like Dimitri would like to be. He sits straight-backed with his hands on his knees and his expression unreadable.

“This is a silent floor,” Felix tells them.

“It certainly is,” Dimitri says, as sagely as he can.

“Go away.”

Dimitri smiles.

Felix rolls his eyes and hunches a little further over his laptop and tip-taps away like he’s working. The furrow of his brow and the concentrated glaze of his eyes tell Dimitri he’s just poking at the keys. Typing gibberish maybe. Dimitri smiles some more.

“I’m not going to talk about it,” Felix grunts.

“You should talk to Sylvain,” Dedue says.

Felix raises his eyes to glare. Dedue leans back and settles a little more comfortably in the chair and closes his eyes.

“Odd,” he says. “You’re all very odd.”

“Whatever,” Felix grumbles.

“Felix,” Dimitri says.

Felix ignores him.

Dimitri leans over and pokes at his knee.

Felix ignores him some more.

“Felix,” Dimitri says again, insistent now. “Look at me.”

“Go away.”

“I will not.”

Felix, jaw clenched, snaps his laptop closed and turns the force of his glare on Dimitri. “We won’t bother you again,” he snaps. “Go away now!”

“You can,” Dimitri says. He watches a muscle bounce in Felix’s cheeks. “I’ll come with you if you want me to.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Felix,” Dimitri says, straightening and holding the straps of his bag a little tighter. “Really. I’ll come if you want me to.”

Felix, finally, looks away. He glowers at his knees.

“You should still talk to Sylvain,” Dedue says.

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees with a bob of his head. “Communication is very important in a healthy relationship.”

“Are you a pamphlet now?” Felix mutters and opens his laptop again. “Leave, you bore.”

Dimitri sighs and stands and wonders if he’s said what he’s needed to or what Felix needed to hear. Dedue joins him a moment later, stretching.

“Dimitri,” Felix says. He doesn’t look up from his screen. “I’m coming over later.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says, faux-casual. “I’ll be home.”

Felix grunts.

In the stairwell as they’re walking back down to ground floor, Dedue says: “That was uncomfortable.”

“But improved, I think,” Dimitri replies.

Dedue looks at him. “Odd,” he says again.

“Maybe,” Dimitri allows.

* * *

Byleth sends three messages in a row towards the end of Dimitri’s late morning Anthropology class. One: a gif of red pandas squirming their way along a tree branch. Two: an article advertising the holiday joys of the downtown Christmas Market. Three: a teacup emoji, a blue heart emoji, and a simple “I love you.”

Dimitri snaps the last of his mechanical pencils and tries to wipe the overzealous grin from his face.

That is the Byleth effect. The Byleth haze. The—lovey dovey joys of having a significant other, even if they keep it quiet and to themselves.

“Dude,” Sylvain likes to say. “You can’t live in the library.”

“You are right,” Dimitri likes to reply, even though he’s bursting at the seams and wants to tie Sylvain to a chair and make him listen to all the ways Byleth brings joy and light and kisses to his life.

“I have to buy more pencils,” he says in a text.

And Byleth replies: “My work here is done.”

He leaves the stuffy lecture hall beaming, with his clipboard clutched to his chest and something of a cheery hum on his lips. 

* * *

“Felix is coming over later?” Ingrid says to him before their German class that afternoon.

“Yes.”

Ingrid considers this. She leans over their table and plucks up Dimitri’s new pack of pencils. She shakes it. “You can come stay with me tonight,” she decides.

“Kind of you,” Dimitri says. “But I told Felix I’d be home.”

“Did you?”

“I did.”

Ingrid rips open the pack and dumps the collection of pencils on Dimitri’s textbook. “You shouldn’t enable him.”

“He’s nervous,” Dimitri says. “He’s—Felix.”

“Yes,” Ingrid grumbles.

“And Sylvain is—Sylvain.”

“Unfortunately.”

“It can’t be that unfortunate,” Dimitri says, picking up one of the pencils and twirling it between his fingers. He frowns. “It can’t be that _odd_ either.”

“Dedue is absolutely right,” Ingrid insists, tapping the table for emphasis. “It is _extremely_ odd. You’ve now experienced it. You know what it’s like.”

“I just think they should be happy,” Dimitri says.

Ingrid pulls back, leans back. She crosses her arms. “Yes,” she agrees, a little sadly.

Class begins and Dimitri is distracted all the way through their midterm.

* * *

Felix brings a bag of chips. Ripple chips. All dressed. Ketchup. Cheetos.

He thrusts the overfull bag in Sylvain’s arms.

“Don’t eat too many,” he grumbles and storms his way to Dimitri and Sylvain’s couch.

“A bouquet of potatoes,” Dimitri observes.

Felix throws a pillow at him.

Sylvain holds on to the bag and makes his slow way to the couch. “Thanks for the snacks,” he says. “What are you apologizing for?”

The suspicion is warranted.

Felix glares.

Sylvain looks at Dimitri, settled only somewhat comfortably at their crowded eating counter. Dimitri notices, only now, that Dedue has rescued their sole houseplant from certain death and left a clear spot at the edge by the wall. He shoves some of Sylvain’s papers into the spare space.

“Very nice of you to come over,” Sylvain says eventually, stiff and grumpy.

“Very nice of you to have me,” Felix grunts back, quick and almost earnest.

Dimitri leans his elbows on the counter.

“I’ve been trying to,” Sylvain deadpans.

Felix squints.

“Have you. I’ve been trying to have you.”

“You’re the worst,” Felix says. “The actual worst.”

“Do you like Felix’s sweater, Sylvain?” Dimitri pipes up.

They look at him. He shrinks back.

“It’s a nice sweater,” Sylvain says.

“Thanks.”

“Looks a little scratchy.”

“I wear a t-shirt under it.”

“Smart.”

Felix fidgets. He shuffles back along the couch and pulls up his feet and drums his fingers against his knees. Sylvain, still holding the increasingly ridiculous bag of chips, watches him.

“Sylvain’s hair looks very nice today, don’t you think, Felix?” Dimitri says, a little desperately.

“My hair’s usually nice,” Sylvain scoffs. He twists to look at Dimitri, the bags crunching and the plastic ruffling as he moves. “Why are you here again?”

Dimitri smiles. “I’m chaperoning.”

“You are _not_.”

“He’s chaperoning!” Felix snaps. “Ignore him!”

“I can’t ignore him if he keeps talking.” Sylvain pauses. “Or watching us.”

“I can go to my room,” Dimitri offers.

“Yes,” Sylvain says.

“No,” Felix says.

Dimitri frowns. “Can I ask something?”

“No,” Felix says.

“Yes,” Sylvain says.

Dimitri considers then and then barrels on. “Have you been properly alone, yet? On a...date. An alone date?”

“Yes,” Sylvain says, and Felix makes a strangled noise and leaps across the couch to smother him. The chips bags scream and fall to the ground.

“I see,” Dimitri says lamely, though neither of them are listening.

* * *

A message.

“You should come over.”

“I can’t,” Dimitri replies. “I’m chaperoning.”

“Bring them too,” Byleth says. A bubble pops up as they continue typing. “We’ll cover their heads and stuff their ears and they won’t know where they are.”

“Horrible,” Dimitri observes.

Byleth responds with a collection of emojis.

“Some chaperone!” Sylvain shouts over the chorus of swears Felix shrieks at the TV.

Dimitri looks up from his phone. “I’m always here,” he says flatly.

Felix’s in-game self dies, dramatically and loudly, and Felix waves the controller through his outrage. Sylvain opens his third bag of chips. And Dimitri endures.

* * *

Their first time alone, in the quiet of Byleth’s apartment with its low ceilings and soft lights, while Byleth puttered around shoving things and messes and laundry out of sight in a last minute panic, and while Dimitri sat on their couch and stared at the low ceiling and clutched his knees—

It had been deafening. Overheated. The chaotic press of a movie theatre and the white noise and social spectacle of a restaurant, all at once. A daydream and a nightmare. A sense of something beginning and ending.

Deafening.

“It gets cold,” Byleth had said, dumping a collection of blankets in Dimitri’s lap.

“Okay,” Dimitri had replied.

And they had stared at each other and then Byleth had resumed their pattering. Their puttering. The pittering of their shuffling and closed expression and fretting hands.

“Can I help?” Dimitri had said eventually.

And Byleth had stopped and considered him. “I am beyond help,” they replied slowly.

That had popped the bubble of deafening stress, the anxiety that roiled under Dimitri’s skin and burned at the back of Byleth’s eyes. Byleth had broken into that small, teetering smile Dimitri loves, and Dimitri had tugged them to the couch and they had toppled together, smiling and laughing as they struggled to get the blankets around them.

Being with Byleth is laughter and joy. This is what love brings to Dimitri’s life.

* * *

Sylvain falls asleep first, sprawled over half the couch and with a mostly empty bag of chips on his stomach. One of his legs hangs haphazardly over the edge. His other foot digs into Felix’s side.

Felix doesn’t seem to mind. He’s bleary-eyed and clutching the controller still. The noise from the TV seems unintelligible to Dimitri, now; as background as Felix’s breathing and Sylvain’s snoring. Dimitri has made progress on his paper. He hates it. He supposes that means it’s almost done.

“I should go home,” Felix grumbles.

Dimitri lifts his head. He drums his fingers lightly against his keyboard. He leans one elbow against his notes and slips pathetically against the counter. “It’s late,” he says eventually.

Sylvain snores.

Felix drops the controller and tugs the bag of chips from Sylvain and drops it to the floor, with the other detritus of their date. “I should go home,” he says again, less grumbly now and a little softer.

It’s all familiar: a dozing Sylvain, a weary and stubborn Felix, Dimitri watching it all unfold feeling separate and together all at once. He wishes, suddenly, for Ingrid. And for Glenn. For the moments they’ve lost and buried.

And at the same time, it’s different: the way Felix touches Sylvain’s knee, and the messy ball of his hair, and the bright mismatched colours of Dimitri and Sylvain’s apartment around them. All this feels, Dimitri imagines, a little like growing up.

No. Like moving on.

He closes his laptop. He exaggerates a yawn and Felix sees right through him, turning to scowl Dimitri’s way.

“I’m going to bed,” Dimitri says casually.

“I’m going home,” Felix says.

“Our home is your home,” Dimitri says.

Felix presses his lips together. “Don’t say anything,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

About what, Dimitri doesn’t ask. “I won’t,” he says and slips from his seat. He leaves his laptop where it is, humming itself to sleep, and pats it goodbye.

Felix stretches to tug the basket of blankets out from under Dimitri and Sylvain’s battered coffee table, with its pile of books and papers and random wrappers. He pulls out the softest of their blankets, one Sylvain had picked with Felix in mind, and wraps it around his shoulders. As Dimitri passes on his way to the bathroom, he catches of glimpse of Felix’s shifting expression, the unsteady way he looks down at Sylvain.

Sylvain snores some more.

Dimitri goes to brush his teeth. He considers his reflection. He considers his friends.

He would be more worried, he thinks, if it _wasn’t_ Sylvain and Felix. They always find their way back together.

All of them.

He comes back out to a dark living room, only the light above the stove guiding him towards his room. When he glances at the couch again, Sylvain and Felix have shifted to a long, smashed-together lump on the couch.

Dimitri tucks his smile against his hand and tip-toes to his bedroom. As he closes the door, he swears he hears Sylvain hum and Felix hiss: “Don’t even start.”

“They are asleep,” he tells Byleth. After some consideration, he adds a smiley emoji.

Byleth responds in kind.

Flopped back on his bed and staring up at his phone screen, Dimitri imagines calling Byleth and listening to the soft sound of their voice wishing him goodnight. He imagines telling them: I love you; I hope you sleep well.

“Wish I was with you,” Byleth says, the letters sharp against Dimitri’s screen.

It’s enough to make a man scream.

Dimitri sits up long enough to tap out _I love you very much_ and to take his pills and then he scurries under his blankets and presses his face to his pillow and smiles.

Something heavy thuds to the ground in the living room.

“Oh _yikes_ ,” Sylvain says. Shouts. “I’m sorry—”

“— _kidding me_ ,” comes Felix’s voice. “Can’t even have one—”

“—couch isn’t big enough for us—”

“—the one who fell asleep! I couldn’t just wake—”

“—almost sweet— _don’t pinch me_ —”

“—stop laughing, Dimitri!”

He chews on his blanket to stifle his snickers.

* * *

His dreams are heavy. He endures.

* * *

Dimitri wakes a little groggy and a little slow. He sits up and pinches his cheeks and shakes his head. He pats the wall by his bed. He shoves his sleep from his mind.

In the kitchen, Felix is already up: messy-haired and hunched over a cup of coffee and Dimitri’s laptop.

“What are you doing?” Dimitri says.

“Snooping,” Felix says. He peers at Dimitri. “You look awful.”

Dimitri smiles. “You look well-rested.”

Felix scowls and ducks behind Dimitri’s laptop screen. His bedhead peeks over the top.

“I’m going to use all his shampoo,” Felix grumbles. Dimitri comes around the eating counter and pokes at their still-warm coffee maker. When he turns, Felix is scrolling through Dimitri’s Facebook. He likes several memes in a row.

“Okay,” Dimitri says. “Did you drool on his pillow?”

“I drooled on him,” Felix says, sounding too pleased.

Dimitri pours himself a cup of coffee. It’s too dark and too bitter, just like Felix likes it.

“You like him,” Dimitri says.

Felix clicks on something. He drags his nails against Dimitri’s touchpad. He grunts: “Obviously.”

Dimitri joins him at the counter. He wiggles his toes and watches Felix. “When is your next date?” he asks eventually.

Felix shrugs.

“There’s a market,” Dimitri continues. “Downtown. A—holiday market.”

“Sounds inane.”

“Or charming.”

Felix shrugs again.

“I bet Sylvain would like something like that,” Dimitri says. “I could follow you two around.”

“We had a date,” Felix snaps.

Dimitri grimaces. “I’m assuming you’ll have more.”

And Felix finally pushes away from Dimitri’s laptop, his hands pressed against the edge of the eating counter. He glares at the opposite wall. “No, we _had_ a _date_. An actual, alone-time date.”

Dimitri opens his mouth and then thinks better of it.

“What the hell, I thought,” Felix grumbles. “Go out once and it’ll be terrible and that’ll be that.”

That’ll be that, Dimitri thinks.

“It’s Sylvain! He’s—Sylvain.” Felix shoulders slump. Dimitri can see his jaw working through his irritation. “I thought it would just be another of his—Sylvain things—”

“Not with you, Felix,” Dimitri says. “Sylvain wouldn’t—”

“Yeah,” Felix says.

They are quiet for a moment. Dimitri’s laptop hums. Sylvain’s alarm goes off and Sylvain shouts something unintelligible at it.

Unconsciously, Felix and Dimitri lean a little closer together, their voices dropping.

“But it was a good date?” Dimitri says.

Felix scowls, finally tearing his eyes from the distant wall to glower Dimitri’s way. “Yes.”

Dimitri mulls this over. “Too good.”

Felix’s expression darkens. “Yes.”

“You’re trying to tell me you’re scared,” Dimitri says softly. Felix makes a threatening gesture, wobbling in his seat with the force of it. “Ah, but Felix—I already knew that.”

“Go to hell!”

“You shouldn’t have bothered Ingrid,” Dimitri continues, unbothered. “I’m happy to help.”

“You didn’t even notice,” Felix snaps. “Besides, I can’t stand you.”

“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.”

“I’m going to force you down the garbage chute.”

“Felix,” Dimitri says.

Felix grunts.

Dimitri opens his mouth. He closes it. He tries again: “Love is wonderful, Felix.”

They stare at each other. Some of the edge fades from Felix’s expression.

Almost kindly, he says: “I’m going to gag.”

* * *

“This is nice,” Sylvain says brightly, drinking straight from the coffee pot while Dimitri sighs and Felix promises bodily harm. He licks his lips and grins at Felix and adds: “You should move in.”

Dimitri slips away from the ensuing carnage.

* * *

“That sounds like a horrible date,” Ingrid says at lunch, clutching her chopsticks.

“They seemed happy,” Dimitri tells her.

“They seem ridiculous,” Ingrid corrects. She pokes at her rice bowl. “Tell me more.”

“You can ask them.”

“I can ask you.”

“Odd,” Dedue sighs, leaned back next to Dimitri with his glasses slipping down his nose. “This is all just very, very odd.”

* * *

Felix hunts down Dimitri the next day at the library printers. They stare at each other. The printer _ka-thunk ka-thunks_ out the pages of Dimitri’s paper.

“Hello Felix,” Dimitri says.

“Tomorrow,” Felix blurts. “Afternoon. We’re going to the market.”

Dimitri blinks. “How about the evening?” he says. He gestures vaguely upwards. “For the lights.”

“For the lights,” Felix mocks. He rolls his eyes and whirls away. “Fine!”

Byleth returns from the reserve shelves with an armful of battered library books. They look between Dimitri and Felix’s retreating back.

“Ah,” they say, slumping a little. “I heard that.”

“He’s kind of cute,” Dimitri observes. “In a dangerous, razor blade kind of way.”

Byleth grimaces. “I don’t see it.”

Dimitri scoops up the warm pages of his paper and smiles down at them, then falters at the crooked shape of their mouth. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Byleth says.

They stand there for a moment while Byleth stews and Dimitri waits.

“We can go next week,” Byleth decides. They nod to themselves. “You’ll have to endure the market twice.”

“Enduring is what I do,” Dimitri says. Byleth takes him by the elbow and turns him towards the little side table crowded with the library staplers.

“I suppose it is,” they hum.

“In any case,” Dimitri continues. “I thought we’d still go. Together.”

“All of us?”

“Yes.”

“As—us?”

“Yes,” Dimitri says.

“A double date.”

“A double date,” Dimitri confirms.

“Oh,” Byleth says. And then: “ _Oh_. I see. A reintroduction.”

“Well,” Dimitri says, as blandly as he can manage. He staples his paper together with a decisive snap. “It’s about time you re-met my family.”

* * *

(Saturday.

Dimitri, his arm linked with Byleth’s, smiles at Felix and Sylvain.

“Hello,” Byleth says. “I’ve come to re-meet you. Also, I like the lights.”

“Re-meet us,” Sylvain echoes.

“That’s not a thing,” Felix says.

“This was really my idea,” Byleth continues, unaffected. “Again, I like the lights. I thought the market would be fun.” They pause, sniffing. “I smell chestnuts.”

“What do chestnuts smell like?” Dimitri asks.

“Heaven,” Byleth replies seriously.

“What the hell,” Felix says.

“Are you really dating our old TA?” Sylvain says flatly. “Dreams do come true, huh.”

“Yes,” Dimitri says brightly.

“What the _hell_ ,” Felix says again.

“You didn’t notice,” Dimitri tells him, a little pleased. “Also, you can’t stand me.”

“Chestnuts,” Byleth insists.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!!


End file.
